I served the last customer in line and ran into the back as she took her seat, carrying the lilies upstairs to put in the window where they would get some sun. Rosie and my mom were in the living room with the TV on, but neither one of them was paying much attention. Rosie was coloring, as usual, and my mother stood at the ironing board, ironing all of Rosie’s clothes for some reason I never understood. Rosie had the box of chocolates next to her, eating them one nibble at a time. Usually, I didn’t let her have candy, but Reid’s delivery had felt like a special occasion for both of us. I had never felt so cared for by any man, and I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at the flowers and thought about the text that Reid had sent me earlier.

I went back downstairs to see that none of the customers had moved. The bakery was slow today and relaxed, something I was grateful for. I didn’t know if, in my current mood, I would be able to handle a rush—I was too giddy, too distracted to be able to work at a fast pace. I felt almost dreamy the whole day, my head in the clouds even as I spoke to the customers.

A man walked in a little after three and handed me a letter.

“You Henry Wright?” he asked. I looked at him in confusion, almost laughing at the question.

“He was my father.”

“But you own the place?” the man asked, looking almost bored, like he didn’t want to be there.

“Yes,” I said, and he thrust the envelope into my hands before leaving the bakery. I looked at the front of it to see that it was certified mail from R.F. Developers Legal Council. I swallowed hard, opening the envelope with delicate fingers. It was probably the offer that Mr. Eustacio had told me was coming. I knew I wasn’t going to take it, but I was excited to see just how high it was.

I pulled out the paper inside and read it over. “Notice: Nonpayment of Rent. (Eviction Notice)” read the first line. Assuming it was a mistake or wrong address, I almost tossed it in the recycling bin until another line caught my eye.

“Pursuant to a written land contract between Henry Wright and Jonathan Ruske, dated April 19, 2012...”

Henry Wright was my father, and while I wasn’t entirely sure who Jonathan Ruske was, the name looked familiar enough to give me pause. I kept reading and it said that unless I showed up at a meeting tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. at the offices of R.F. Developers, I was officially releasing my right to buy the bakery.

None of it made any sense, but a group of customers came in before I could do anything about the letter. I sighed, folding the paper up and shoving it in my back pocket quickly. The stream of customers was steady enough to take my mind temporarily off the letter. I closed up shop after a few hours and went upstairs where my mother was cooking dinner. Rosie was sitting at the table and chatting happily to my mom about her latest imaginary friend, a “ghost” named Sarah with pink hair who was inexplicably British. Rosie talked about her friend all the time, and I knew how to play her game by now. When I walked in, I greeted my daughter by kissing her on the cheek, then turned to the empty chair beside her and said hello to Sarah the ghost. It made Rosie giggle when I did it, and I smiled at her before I went to my mother and handed her the envelope. My mom looked at my face before pulling out the paper.

“What is this?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at me.

“I have no idea. I was hoping you might know.” My mom scanned the letter, and at first her eyebrows were scrunched together in a look of confusion. Then I saw her face soften, and the slightest nod of recognition. She looked me in the eyes after she was done reading, and before she could say anything, I knew it was bad news.

“Is this right? I thought we owned the bakery? Who is Jonathan Ruske?”

“Honey, I’m not entirely sure, but I have a pretty good idea.” She took a deep breath. “As you know by now, your father wasn’t the best businessman. About fifteen years ago, we got into some serious financial trouble and were just days away from losing everything—the bakery, the house, all of our savings. It was a really hard time for us as a family and for our marriage. I was so angry at your father for getting us into such a mess that I threatened to leave him.”

“What? I had no idea.” I knew my parents’ marriage wasn’t perfect, but I had no idea there had ever been such trouble.

“You were young enough that we could keep it from you,” she said. “And judging by the look on your face, we did a pretty good job.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, I took you to my parents’ house for a week while I tried to figure it out. Within a few days, your dad showed up telling me he had figured out a way to get it all back. He told me his poker buddy, Jonathan Ruske, had lent him the money. I don’t remember the details, mostly because I don’t think I believed them, but sure enough we never had any trouble after that.”

“So, is it possible we don’t own the bakery?” I asked. “If we’re supposed to be paying rent, I had no idea, so we are behind at least as many months as Daddy’s been gone.” A heavy feeling sat in my gut as my mind started piecing together all the information. If what Momma said was true and somehow we did not own the real estate, that meant we could lose it all—the bakery and the only home I or Rosie had ever known.

“Well, you have to go to that meeting and find out.,” she said.

“I will.” I glanced over at Rosie, still chatting happily to her ghost friend. I wanted her to grow up in this place like I did, and love it like it was family. I thought about Rosie missing out on what I had as a kid—a sense of connection with my home, a sense of purpose— and the thought of selling the bakery saddened me greatly.

“I’ll meet with them tomorrow. But you’ll have to work while I go to the city.”

“With Rosie?” she asked, looking over my shoulder at my daughter. “For the whole morning?”

I sighed. “I know. But I can’t bring her with me.”

“Honey, you know as well as I do that’s not going to work. We’ll have to open the bakery later, when you get back.”

“We can’t really afford to miss the morning rush,” I told her, chewing my lip.

“You have to go to that meeting. We’ll just have to make do.”

I sighed, putting the envelope on the counter. My mom finished cooking dinner, and the three of us ate together. I happily listened to Rosie tell me about her day with Sarah and what they did when they played together. As I took in the scene in the familiar kitchen, I pushed out the thought that this might be taken from us very soon. The bakery was my home, my business... one of the most important things in my life.